Happy Halloween
by Nymph Du Pave
Summary: An invite brings the unit to a Halloween party. As their paths intersect at the loft, relationships advance. [First four chapters are up [3 is a two parter], the other two are coming ASAP; I think we all know why this was not up BEFORE Halloween >:o(]
1. To the Party, Batman

Nymph Du Pave: Happy Halloween   
TITLE: Happy Halloween   
AUTHOR: Nymph Du Pave   
FANDOM: Law & Order: Special Victims Unit   
PAIRING: Read and discover :o)   
RATING: PG-13   
SUMMARY: It's Halloween and everyone just needs to have a good time.   
DISCLAIMER: L&O: SVU belongs to Dick Wolf, NBC and whoever else. I have nothing but a sick desire to play with the characters created by them. I earn no wages, just want to have fun.   
FEEDBACK: It makes my day!   
AUTHOR'S EMAIL: nymph_du_pave@hotmail.com   
AUTHOR'S THANKS: Thanks to VTerrice for lending me Ellandra Seymour and to Damian Ruse for great reviews and some imperative information. Happy Halloween everyone!! 

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**Happy Halloween**

CHAPTER ONE: To the Party, Batman 

We just wanted to have a little fun on Halloween, you know? I mean at most workplaces you'll find some decorations up, or at least some candy spread around. Even at Narcotics we had a little enjoyment on Halloween. But at the Special Victims Unit... Well, it's different. Everything is so somber, so goddamn serious... The only decoration that ever goes up for a holiday is this morbid little Christmas tree in the corner with, like, nine ornaments. Damn, I hate that tree. It's worse than Charlie Brown's. 

So when we solved a major case on the 31st we all just figured, "go home- sleep- wake- come back." The regular routine. But sometimes the regular routine'll make you postal. 

Ellandra Seymour, the newest and youngest member, a psychological advisor to the unit, understood that and had an idea. 

She stood up and stretched, lifting her already perky breasts higher and I couldn't help but watch. I mean, she's gorgeous. That _innocent-but-not-so-innocent_ porcelain doll face with the fire on top [and no doubt below]. The well shaped and sized breasts. The slim waist with nice hips and flat stomach. And that ass. Oh, wow. Round but tight little piece with great legs and the toes... I sort of have this foot fetish deal going on, and she once wore a pair of open-toed flats, leaving me to trying and catch a glimpse all day long. It was a fun little game for when the work became too stressful. 

She ran her fingers through the crimson curls on top and looked around at the group, a bit anxious. It was one of those very rare times where everyone was going to be off at the same time, including our captain, and she looked like she had something on her mind. 

"What is it Seymour?" my partner asked, impatience painting his tone. He couldn't seem to be able to like anything about the young woman and I could see that she was fast becoming fodder for another one of his little conspiracies. 

"Well, I was kinda wondering if anyone wanted to go to a party with me... I mean blues from all of the precincts are gonna be there-" Groans from Munch, Olivia and Stabler interrupted her simultaneously. She waited a second before continuing, "-but it'll be fun. Music, scary movies, free drinks and candy." 

I saw my partner's eyes go up at the mention of easy sweets. After over a year of working with the man, I found he had developed a horrendous and voracious appetite for most confections. 

"There's also this really neat little haunted house in the backyard. Homemade by rich people. And a playroom for kids," she said eyeing Elliot. "If you wanted to bring your wife and twins, there'll be a lot of other children there." 

Stabler's eyebrows rose in consideration, then he smiled. "Dicky and 'Lizabeth did want me to take them somewhere tonight. And I know Kathy'd love to get out. Liv?" 

"Beats going home right now." She sighed. "I couldn't sleep if I tried." 

I watched as Elle attempted to contain her glee at taking a chance and getting her colleagues out and about. Elliot looked back to her. "The address?" She gave it to him and I recognized the part of town as just a few blocks from Olivia's apartment, making it all the more convenient as Benson was currently without wheels. 

"Finn?" My stomach gave a small leap as she turned those warm, caramel browns on me with an expecting gaze, a gaze that said she figured she knew my answer, but was still needlessly worried. God, she was sexy when she did that; the height of that not-so-innocent face's faux naiveté. 

"Sounds good." Maybe tonight I'd get her to dance with me. 

I turned to my partner, who watched our captain and the ADA Alexandra Cabot come out of his office. "And you?" I asked John, figuring I could convince him if the answer was no. 

"Far be it from me to pass up a night of mirth and free comestibles." Elle smiled. 

"Free food?" Cragen asked, keeping his eyes on the now departing counselor. 

Olivia stood up and grabbed her stuff. "Elle was talking about a Halloween party." 

Now I can say for a fact that everyone figured our doleful captain would give the x-nay on any type of party that involved festivities and joy, but to our surprise he was interested. "Anyone invited there, Seymour?" 

"Cops and dates, families, friends." 

Cragen nodded to Elle then looked up towards Alex now almost out of the room. "Counselor?" 

She stopped and looked up at him from her file, the light from the fluorescent overheads reflecting off of her glasses. 

"Wait up. I'll walk you out." I watched along with five other pairs of eyes, as our captain walked out with the prosecutor. Elliot then grabbed his coat and waved goodbye. "See you all soon," he called exiting the squadroom. 

Olivia stood and caught Munch's eye with a quirky little smile. He snickered and stood up to meet her, quickly grabbing his black coat and matching fedora. "I suppose, but you know the rules. Only Finn gets to ride with his head out the window." 

"Ha, ha." I called after him as the two headed out leaving me with Elle and a few detectives lingering in the fileroom above. I looked at her, a delicious morsel in her own right. "Complete with night chills and frightened virgins?" 

Elle nodded. "Soundtrack and all." A wicked grin flashed across her face and her eyes lowered. "Though, I can't help you on the virgin part." 

My stomach twisted pleasantly at her words, though I wasn't sure if she had been hinting at anything. "Let's go. I've got the ride."   
  


**To be continued...**   
  
  
  



	2. Munch's Sweet Tooth

  
TITLE: Happy Halloween   
AUTHOR: Nymph Du Pave   
DISCLAIMER: L&O: SVU belongs to Dick Wolf, NBC and whoever else. I have nothing but a sick desire to play with the characters created by them. I earn no wages, just want to have fun.   
AUTHOR'S EMAIL: nymph_du_pave@hotmail.com   
AUTHOR'S NOTE: About this particular chapter: So many people put Munch as the "agressor" or more foreward character when it comes to any Munch/Cassidy slash. Now, I love this so very much, and it really fits him but, then again, so does being the more "unsure" and receptive one. The only other ones I could find that had Cassidy as the instigator {also happening to be the first M/C slash I ever read] were Iris Gray's sweet duo: _There's A First Time for Everything_ and _The Morning After_. So this chapter is sort of dedicated to her :o)   
PS: If anyone else loves Munch being the instigator, you should _definately_ check out De Orakle's _Kink_ series. Simply the best when it comes to sexual tension. A talented author I really look up to. 

* * *

**Happy Halloween**

CHAPTER TWO: Munch's Sweet Tooth 

Olivia deserted me almost the moment we entered the warm, almost humid loft, muttering her thanks for the ride and something about getting a drink. I had watched her go wanting to say something about betrayal, but at the moment I doubted my ostensibly forlorn friend would have found the sarcasm humorous. I tried to think of possible reasons for Olivia's melancholy, but came up with the same thing that haunts most of us: loneliness. It's just the type of thing that some take better than others. 

So I wandered around a bit talking to a few people I recognized, but no one that really kept my nomadic attention occupied. I had seen my partner come in with the redheaded addition to our group, but instead of moving to greet him, I remapped my route for the opposite direction, mentally astute to the manner at which he was gazing at the psychological advisor. I figured he didn't need me bogging him down. 

I grabbed a greedy plateful of artery blockers and teeth disintegraters and headed to an empty spot on a couch in a darkened area of the loft. I realized only too late that I was actually sitting in a group consisting of the teenaged sons and daughters of my companions on the force. None of them even gave me a second glance as they all watched the bigscreen TV, 3D glasses on, some laughing, some giving joyous grimaces at the content. I looked in time to catch a killer with a harpoon gun shoot the projectile straight into the eye of a young woman in water. I winced, figuring sardonically that this'd be the place I would have ended up. As the crowd of kids laughed at the 3D popcorn in the next scene, I wondered why the hell I was sitting here doing this to myself. 

You'd never be able to guess it, but I'm not really one for horror movies. At least not the more recent cookie-cutter, machete wielding slashers. I hate the gore. I see it all of the time, real carnage which is even worse, but there's still something about the silver screen capturing it in all of it's over-saturated, gruesome glory that I cannot bare. I like to stick with the classics and more mentally enlightening material. 

I stood and meandered around the huddled kids, hoping to find another sanctuary in which to eat my wealth of goodies. They really were the reason I came. Well, that and the company. I was hoping to run into a few people. Briscoe would be here, but that was no real biggy. Monique Jeffries and Brian Cassidy. They were the biggies. Specifically the former. 

Jeffries, of course, was a wonderful woman, just my type [that is if I still had a type of woman]: sarcastic, witty and clever. But Brian was different, he was refreshing. I missed him something fierce and was in dire need of seeing his face. 

Don't get me wrong, though. I wouldn't want him as my partner again. Finn is by far the better SVU detective. He can handle the crimes, the deaths, the disgusting and unnatural killers. Most importantly he can handle the mental baggage that comes with the victims, especially the live and so very needy victims. 

That had been Brian's problem. It had started affecting his view of the world, had started to bring him down. And when the momentary happiness he found with Olivia turned out to be just that, momentary, he had sunken lower into the depths of the depression that can be the SVU to a younger, less jaded uniform. 

I'm just glad he got out before it changed him, before it all deformed him. He was tough, bright and enthusiastic about being a cop and catching the bad guys. Just not with our unit, and I could understand that. As much as I want to have him near, as much as I _needed_ a little bit of that daily rejuvenation, I wouldn't want to risk that lovable energy, that aura about him. I would hate to see a world in which Brian Cassidy could not find a smile. 

After about ten minutes of walking and eating, I had had enough candy to replace my teeth's coating of enamel permanently with sugar and caramel [not to mention chocolate], but had yet to find either of my old partners. I still wanted more food and headed back to the table. As I walked by the window I happened to glance outside and saw him coming out of the haunted house with Monique, laughing hard. 

Just the sight of Cassidy, even from a full story up, sent a tingle down my spine and I put my plate down on the nearest horizontal surface. I tried to maneuver around people that seemed to have suddenly appeared out of nowhere, most likely sent by Greek gods with a single purpose: crowd around the person most eager to get to someone he desperately wanted to see, therefore immobilizing him. My frantic manner and matching heartbeat had no doubt attracted the attention of the deities and their foot soldiers, but even they were no match for my desperation. I rudely pushed my way through my colleagues and strangers siting a difference of opinion with my stomach. 

"Too much candy, huh?" Briscoe called out and I waved, but kept going. I tried to keep my pride by taking the steps two at a time instead of four, and wondered why the hell my ex-partner did this to me. Anytime there was a chance that I'd be anywhere in the same vicinity as him, I got more alert, more jumpy and more... 

Well, "more" would have to suffice, for I had not the word to describe what else I was, and if I did, fear of the unknown would most likely hinder the use of it. 

I opened the loft's doors leading to the back patio which was lit with tiki-torches and playing softer music. I saw couples dancing and realized immediately how out of place I was in this romantic setting. I made my way down the steps, my eyes traversing the backyard, frenzied for a sign of Cassidy but I found none. I leaned up against the railing and sighed softly, looking up at the twinkling stars in the black velvet of the sky. For a moment I contemplated heading home. 

"John! Hey, man!" I turned to watch the younger detective bounce his way down the steps, hand in hand with Monique. 

Now, feelings of jealousy and pure envy directed solely at Jeffries was not _at all_ what I had expected. Yet my eyes lingered on the clasped hands in a sort of morbid fascination. Surely if I stared hard enough and long enough, a hole would begin to burn into them. I wished I had the corny, yet seemingly unbeatable powers of General Zod from _Superman 2_. 

As they walked around to stand in front of me, still leaning suavely against the railing, the hands came undone, and I looked into the two faces of my old friends. The jealousy crumpled as fast as the snake on the ground in Ursa's view, and I was just happy to see them. It was a bit awkward and somewhat silent at first, but then I just laughed and moved to hug Monique. 

Her laughter, which had been seized from my ears quite some time ago, was now quite the reward. "It's so good to see you, geek." 

I pulled back and gave Brian a quick hug as well. Only with him I couldn't help noticing the way his hands smoothed over my back as our chests briefly touched. The way my heart sped up as his face pressed to mine in an ephemeral moment. 

The way I wanted to pull him so much closer. 

He pulled back. "Surprised to see you here. This really isn't your type of gig, is it?" 

I shook my head, not willing to admit even to myself how much I had wanted to stay within that welcome and somewhat familiar embrace. Not wanting to admit how good it had felt to be held, even for just a moment, by Cassidy. "Not really. They have free candy." 

Even as I caught my ex-partner's knowing smile, I cursed myself for my words. _'They have free candy?' Was that even me speaking?_

"Well, even if it's not your thing, you should really check out that place," started Monique, jerking her thumb towards the haunted house. "It's hilarious. Kinda creepy, but great if you're buzzed just right." Her laugh and smile died away as she looked towards the ground. "Listen, John. Do you know if Benson's here or what?" 

I nodded, surprised by the abrupt sobriety of her question. The two women had always gotten along very well, but had never, as far as I knew, converged past the precinct walls. I frowned wondering if there was something she couldn't talk to a man about. "Is everything okay?" 

She looked up and smiled one of her _don't be silly_ smiles. "Of course. I just have something I want to talk to her about." 

I nodded again. _Women and their damned mysteries_. "The last time I spoke to her was when we got here, about half an hour ago. I think she was headed toward the bar." 

Monique nodded, gave me another, quicker hug and a peck on the cheek, then left. I turned to Brian, an odd expression graced his boyish face. 

"What?" 

"Come on, old man," he said grabbing my arm and pulling me with him. We followed a path of ceramic and stained glass stones, looking down at them in silence. After a moment I took a deep breath wondering how to broach the question on my mind. I decided straightforward was best. "So, you and Jeffries are..." 

_Well, so much for straightforward_, I thought as I lost my nerve and trailed off. 

To my surprise the odd expression came back, more pronounced and probing. He shook his head. "No, John." 

Firm no. 

We walked on the outskirts of the party for a while, to the edge of the property, a covered pool to the right and a gazebo close to our left. We had been talking a little about what we had been up to recently, but our conversation was stilted and half-hearted. I kept looking up to all of the happy Halloweeners, and as we walked up to the little pavilion, I began to really notice my disheartening place amongst them: an outsider distant from the happy coterie, watching instead of being. More of a voyeurish recipient than a conscious and active mortal. 

An extra in life's little theatrical production. 

"Cheerful observation," I mumbled to myself, breaking the sheltered silence. 

"What?" asked Brian. He had walked up into the gazebo and turned to me while I had been party gazing. I followed him up noticing how he had his usual pose going for him: the somewhat hunched shoulders and hands pocketed. 

"Nothing, merely-" I reached the platform and looked into his eyes, swallowing hard. The emotions I saw forced my throat to contract, making it impossible to finish my sentence. There was raw lust in those intense azure eyes. Raw lust _for me_. 

Before I could even contemplate what that meant, his lips were on me, pressing eagerly to mine, and my eyes shut tight on reflex. Long ago I had forced myself to cease thoughts of what this would feel like; an intimate moment with Brian, an intimate expression of pent up desires and actions never taken for fear of rejection and dismissal. But here it was, not just in my thoughts, but live. All of my wishes and desires came screaming back at me revealing that they had never left, just carefully stowed themselves away. 

He pulled back mere seconds after the kiss began and I opened my eyes. "Bri?" My voice was low and gruff, practically unrecognizable, even to my own ears. 

He stepped closer and placed his thumb and forefinger on my chin, staring at my mouth with rapt attention. "Yes?" 

"Could you put my glasses in my pocket?" 

He was still focused on my mouth. "Why don't you?" 

"Because I'm lucky I'm still able to talk. I don't want to push it." 

He let go of my chin and pushed my glasses down the bridge of my nose. When his eyes met mine, I saw something undeniably rich in texture. Something that coming from a woman's gaze, I would have called tender and knowing love, but I was still too uncertain of my own heart and feelings to know what could be coming from the younger man. 

Whatever it was, I knew he saw a mirrored image within my own. 

After a moment, a slow and satisfied smile appeared on his face. Eyes never leaving mine, he gently removed my glasses, placing them in the breast pocket of my suit. He then stepped even closer, our bodies almost touching, and his eyes dropped to focus again on my mouth. 

I wanted to tell him everything then and there, but I didn't know where to start, or what to tell him about. The attraction that I had dared not let myself feel for as long as I'd known him? How he made me feel physically and, well, emotionally? How much I wanted to kiss him again, and this time let it last? 

What should I say first? It seemed incredibly important. "Listen, I wan-" 

The words died away as his hand moved up to caress my face, his thumb making a trail around the bottom lip still in his view. "Sometimes it's best to just forget the words and act, John." 

"Yeah?" 

He looked at me nodding, and I took that as permission to go ahead. But going ahead was harder than following his lead. My breath was shallow and my hands trembled as I inched my way to his mouth. I could sense myself freezing up, and I stopped close enough to his lips that I could feel his warm breath washing over my parted lips and into my mouth. I closed my eyes, the sensation causing vibrations all up and down, stirring something in my abdomen. 

For once in my adult life, I didn't know how to take control of a situation. It scared and exhilarated me at the same time. "Help me, please?" I begged, checking what little pride I had at the door. 

The hand that had been caressing my face moved to cup the back of my neck and pulled my mouth to his. His lips were now closed, waiting for me to make my move. With the courage he had given me I opened my own just a little more and stroked his smooth lips tenderly with my tongue. He opened his mouth, allowing me to softly probe. After a moment, he began his own exploration, and I shivered as he deliberately ran his tongue along the roof of my mouth, subtly taking over the kiss. He delved a little longer then gently started to pull away, but after waiting for so very long for this moment, there was no way it was going to be over before I wanted it to. I grabbed his face and locked it in position, my tongue becoming a more eager hunter and his the willing prey. I kissed him harder, sucking his tongue into my mouth, and a delicious jolt of electricity ran through me when I heard his moan of frustrated passion. This only increased the ferocity of the embrace, the moment, both of us moving violently against each others mouths, trying to show years of heat and admiration and, yes, love. Our balance was thrown off and I stumbled backward and into one of the columns of the small gazebo, but our lips never parted. He pulled me over to the heavy lattice railing where my hands braced themselves on top of the wooden enclosure, his arms wrapping themselves around my waist and pulling me closer. As we had to catch our breath, we broke off the more intense part of the kiss, but still nipped at each other lips, savoring taste, texture and, most importantly, the intrinsic and visceral contact. 

The kiss stopped all together and he pulled back to look at me, not releasing me from his grasp. I could see the needy vulnerability in those beautiful deep blue eyes, and I breathed in deeply, pressing my face to his neck before letting it out. A second later his own sigh followed. 

"Wow." His voice is cracked and a little weak. "Happy Halloween, Munch." 

I laughed a good, deep laugh. He would never know just how right those words were. I try to speak, but it comes out a feeble whisper. "Happy Halloween."   
  


**On to the next couple!**   
  
  
  



	3. Finn and the Demure Elle: Part One

Nymph Du Pave: Happy Halloween   
TITLE: Happy Halloween   
AUTHOR: Nymph Du Pave   
DISCLAIMER: L&O: SVU belongs to Dick Wolf, NBC and whoever else. I have nothing but a sick desire to play with the characters created by them. I earn no wages, just want to have fun.   
AUTHOR'S EMAIL: nymph_du_pave@hotmail.com 

* * *

**Happy Halloween**

CHAPTER THREE: Finn and the Demure Elle   
_Part One_

It was around twenty-five minutes before I could even get to asking her to dance with me. She had to go say hello to practically everyone in the loft, from both Narcotics and Homicide, then their families. I walked around talking to a couple of my friends from Narcs that didn't feel completely abandoned by me. I had left so abruptly after my partner, Julian, had died that I hadn't even said goodbye to many of my colleagues. I just couldn't have been there. 

As I headed towards the bar for a second beer, I heard Elle talking loudly to someone. I looked to my left and watched the overly polite advisor trying to unlatch herself from a conversation with a tall, dark haired man who looked extremely interested in her. I thought for an evil moment of leaving her dangling as she did with me, and watching her try to get away, but then I'd never be able to get close enough for anything to happen. 

I walked towards them and as a few people parted for me, I noticed that she had changed into shapely black slacks that accented her waist, butt and thighs and a glittering orange strapless top with strings laced up the rear, exposing her slender and delicate back. I stared at the way the shirt molded perfectly to her shape, her nicely lean arms crossed, pushing her proud breasts up. On anyone else the mixture of her hair color and the orange would have clashed horribly, but her complexion made the transition smooth and flawless. 

"No, no. Really that's great. I've just got to uh, you know, meet someone." My grin widened at the opening she had inadvertently given me. I walked up behind her, pushed my hands under her bare arms and grabbed her around her slim waist, feeling her flat stomach surprisingly graced with feminine muscle beneath my arms. "Hello," I purred into her ear loud enough for her friend to hear me. She jumped and turned her head to look back at me, face within a mere two inches of mine. As soon as she realized who was grabbing her, the confusion left and my stomach performed a small vertiginous flip at the expression on her face. At the same time her face was exhibiting pure, happy surprise, I felt her inhale sharply beneath me and she held that breath for a moment. To my senses the loft was suddenly gone; it was as if we had floated away, our bodies pressed together. It was just her and me. 

"Oh, uh-" And him. 

Argh. I came crashing back to reality. 

"Sorry, Ellandra." I almost felt bad for the younger man with his sudden downtrodden face that he was trying, however unsuccessfully, to twist into a placid form. "I'll just..." he trailed off pointing to the bar. "See ya." 

"Bye, Collin," she breathed, looking at his retreating form. I could tell being in my arms was still affecting her, and this shook me a little. She wanted to be here like this. It had occurred to me with the way we bonded and bantered that maybe she had a tiny thing for me. Just sort of a crush, what with the looks I occasionally caught her giving me. They were the same kind she occasionally caught me giving her. Well, that and I look at her breasts a lot, something I never catch her reciprocating. 

That we might dance tonight and take it a wee bit further than friendship, well, it had entered my mind. But to find the desire already there and strong... I could picture, could feel, those lush little lips beneath mine, my hands all over her and hers all over me. I could hear her moaning in desire, could hear the rip of my shirt being torn open in frenzied lust and- 

She moved in my arms and I stepped back, letting her go and turn to face me before the urge to press myself against that tight little ass became too much to fight. The stirring in my now awaking groin make it more difficult to look at her, but I did, awkwardly for a moment, and then to the floor, her eyes following the trail of mine. 

_Oh, God._

She was wearing open-toed, lacy orange sandals. Her beautiful toes peaking out, obviously well taken care of and manicured, the clear acrylic paint gleaming. My mind filled with thoughts of tickling those feet with my tongue. 

I cleared my throat. "I, uh, overheard your conversation, and it sounded like you could use a break." 

She looked sharply up at me and I immediately regretted giving her my reasons for holding her the way I did. I could see sad understanding enter her eyes as she realized I had only done it to help her get away from Collin. She thought I didn't feel the same, and I watched as embarrassment heated her cheeks. "Oh, okay." 

"Elle-" I started, trying to explain. 

"Well, thanks, I didn't-" 

"Elle-" 

"-really feel like talking-" 

"Hey-" 

"-to him much longer." 

I put my hand to her face, and cursed my work-callused fingers for their minute sensitivity, wishing I could feel the true texture of her satiny cheek. Would it feel like a rose petal? 

She was quiet and her confused expression came back, her heated brown eyes melting something in me. I think it was my reservation. 

The crowd suddenly got loud with raucous laughter, and I bent over to speak into her ear. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her eyes shut as she inhaled again, this time instantly letting it out in one shaky whoosh, and I could feel the warmth flow against the side of my neck. 

I brushed the curls away and let my lips brush softly against her ear as I whispered "Do you want to dance with me?" 

She nodded quickly, her hair tickling the end of my nose and lips. I had a sudden urge to lick that hair, to taste it and see if it was strawberry flavored or closer to cayenne. 

Instead I grabbed her hand and started to pull her with me, when I realized that this was not my turf. I had no clue where the dance floor was, even though she had told me on our ride here there would be one. Elle pointed to a sliding glass door, and I could see that it led to a patio. We walked there hand in hand, not saying anything. I opened it for her and followed her out onto the awning covered dance floor. I briefly looked around, appraising the subtle light sources: twinkle-lights and tiki-torches. October Project's _Return to Me_ was playing from speakers to the left and right, though I'd never let a soul in on the fact that I knew and indeed liked their music. The patio was full but not crowded with couples, some having fun, some more intimate, and the floor was made of deep, rich ebony wood. With the string lights hanging from the awning above casting a perfect reflection onto the black floor, it looked as if we were standing on the sky. 

I looked at Elle, both her skin and her shirt shimmering in the atmospheric light as she watched the crowd beyond the patio rail. I swallowed, taking in her beauty. "Who's house is this anyway?" 

She met my eyes. "Frank Clinton's." 

I forwned, effectively communicating the blank that the name brought up. 

"He's an investor. He's also the brother-in-law of Lieutenant Michael Bentley." 

This time no blank, the name fully registered. "Narcotics." 

"Yeah. He does this every year for the Fourth of July, Halloween, and New Year's Eve. Halloween's his favorite though." 

I glanced at the makeshift haunted house in the huge backyard. "It must be. How come I've never heard of it?" 

"Well, you worked heavy undercover, right?" I nodded. "No time to visit cop parties when you're playing the dangerous role of a dealer. Nobody in the SVU knew about it either, though. Well, except for Cragen. He recognized it when I gave him the address, but he said he just doesn't get out much." 

"They must not think much of Sex Crimes." Looking back to her, I smiled and ran my fingers through the unruly and fiery silk, noting the droop in her eyelids and the sudden heaviness of my own. In my dazed state I wondered why my fingers, still entwined in her hair, had not caught fire. 

I led her to a vacant spot near one of the torches, and moved so that she caught the reflection of the light, her hair and face glowing, her shirt sending sparkles onto us both. I pulled her to me, my hands sliding over the speed bumps of her laced up straps and down her back, to rest right above her rear. Her own hands found their way to clasp around my neck, her arms draping lightly down my chest. 

We didn't move with the music or even meet each others gazes at first, too unsteady in the moment. Then, courage rebuilt, we acted in unison, our eyes converging in a single moment. We stayed still, like that for what could have been five seconds or five minutes, then I started to lower my head towards hers. Foreheads pressed together and eyes closed, we started to move with the music, my arms wrapping themselves once again around her and her own grip becoming tighter. My head moved so we were as close to cheek to cheek as we could get with her in flats and four or five inches shorter. She pressed her whole body against mine, and my breathing was quickly becoming more ragged. I opened my eyes to concentrate on something other than her and saw my partner rush out onto the patio. He looked around for a second, and more slowly and carefully removed himself from the floor, walking down the steps. I suddenly recognized one of the other couples on the floor as Monique Jeffries and a young white man that looked very familiar. They were arguing in a good natured fashion and Monique said something about "getting the nerve up" and pointed to Munch. 

_Brian Cassidy_, my mind supplied, _Munch's old partner, before Jeffries_. I had only seen a few pictures of him, one on my partner's desk. We'd never actually met. 

A second later Cassidy grabbed Jeffries' hand and headed down the stairs. "John! Hey, man!" His voice startled Elle, and she looked up at me. 

The heat and desire in her eyes brought back the level of sexual tension that I had been trying to calm, and everything in me tensed pleasantly. Her face seemed so innocent, but her hair silently screamed that there was another side to her and her lustful eyes were confirming it. I brought my right hand to her cheek and bent down, quickly covering her plush lips with mine. Thrilled when they instantly parted, I eagerly sent my tongue in to stroke hers and at the same time decided to test the waters. I trailed my left hand down the curve of her spine to lightly cup her bottom. I could feel the skimpy panty line beneath the polyester pants and Elle moaned deeply, strengthening her grip on my neck and filling my mouth with her hunger. I lowered my right hand to cup the other cheek of her rear, and pulled her roughly to me. Her hands left my neck and slid firmly over my shoulders and down the front of my chest, feeling me out. 

I released her ass from my grip and pushed her away gently gasping for air, but kept my hands on her upper arms. I bent slightly to kiss her on the cheekbone, right below her left eye. 

"Finn, I-" 

I looked at her and she flushed deeply, but did not drop her gaze. I lightly trailed a finger from her forehead to her nose, then more slowly over her moist and parted lips. "Yeah?" 

Her eyes closed, no doubt enjoying the sensation of my finger making its rounds. "I want you," she whispered. The muscles in my stomach suddenly contracted to what must have been a tenth of their regular size. My finger stilled in it's position on her bottom lip, and to my surprise her pink, wet tongue flickered out to lick the tip. 

This time we both flushed. I could feel the heat all over as she kept her shy eyes shut tight, but her mouth opened and she took my finger into it. Warm and wet, she passed the first knuckle and stopped at the second. She kept my finger gently in place with her teeth and lightly teased it with her tongue. As she sucked a little on the end, I could feel my hardness growing, and knew it was time to go. If Elle wanted to change her mind she could do it somewhere more private, because she wasn't going to get the chance here. Right now, I just had to get out of the crowd. 

I took my finger abruptly out of her mouth, wanting so badly to replace it with something else, and grabbed her hand, pulling her with me. "Come on," I growled. 

I walked back into the house, the ridiculously warm air not really helping the already overheated situation. I had to think. There wasn't going to be a spare room in this house, and my car was _not_ a very sexy place. 

_If we can't find anywhere private, maybe it's for the best. It's a sign._ I jumped a little as I felt a light squeeze on my ass. _Or maybe _that_ was a sign._ I turned to look at her and she kissed the back of my hand. "This way." I followed her, watching her hips sway from side to side as she pulled me with her to some unknown destination. I could imagine my hands on those hips, only they were naked and pinned beneath me. 

Feeling a little lightheaded as we turned down a dark hallway, I heard loud rock and roll music. I was trying to identify the song as we stopped and Elle opened a door. She pushed me in front of her, then followed. It was completely dark and I had no idea where we were until Elle turned on the light temporarily blinding us both. 

"Ugh!" 

"Tell me about it." I opened my eyes and my mouth dropped. _So this is where she took my coat when we got here_. 

We were in a large, walk-in closet over-flowing with coats and jackets. I couldn't even see the floor. 

_This is where she wants to..._

I turned around to face her, and the lights went off again. My heart started pounding. "Elle are you sure-" 

A pair of lips cut me off, attaching themselves to mine and frenzied hands started to work my vest open.   
  
  
  
  
  


Two choices exist here for the reader: **Either read the cut scene** _Finn and the Demure Elle [Omitted Scene]_ **at risk of an NC-17 rating,** or **Go on to the next chapter part, which skips the detailed sexual escapades.**   
  
  
  



	4. Finn and the Demure Elle: Part Two

Nymph Du Pave: Happy Halloween   
TITLE: Happy Halloween   
AUTHOR: Nymph Du Pave   
DISCLAIMER: L&O: SVU belongs to Dick Wolf, NBC and whoever else. I have nothing but a sick desire to play with the characters created by them. I earn no wages, just want to have fun.   
AUTHOR'S EMAIL: nymph_du_pave@hotmail.com 

* * *

**Happy Halloween**

CHAPTER THREE: Finn and the Demure Elle   
_Part Two_

I climbed over to her side, figuring Elle as the kiss and cuddle type, and I was right. She fell in instantly with me, wrapping her arm around my waist and her face pressing to my chest. Her other hand dug itself into my hair, and stayed there. To my surprise I no longer just felt obligated. It wasn't that I was all of a sudden changed into a cuddly teddy bear, but I actually wanted her in my arms, and that want had nothing to do with me currently becoming more aroused. 

I moved to smell the curls that tickled my neck, and figured that if they had a taste to them, it had to be cherry and the sweetest I'd ever tasted. I knew Elle's sexual appetite was very, very spicy, but sex did not make the person. Everything else that was Elle, everything else that I knew about her, the way she worked, the way she treated everyone in the SVU, even Munch... That was what made her. The way she held me now, eyes open, hand moving to lightly stroke my chest, and her head positioned carefully, obviously over my heart to hear the calming beats... _That_ was Elle. 

"I hate to do this but-" 

"I know," she groaned. "We gotta get out of here." 

I pointed to her naked lower half. "At least before someone gets more than their coat." 

She blushed, sitting up to search for her clothes as I put my hair back up and looked for my vest. We both stood and met each others eyes, and a bit clumsy with what we were thinking. The inevitable moment after. 

Now, I could be a master at evasion, even when it came to the women I worked with. I would never slight Elle and would want to stay friends, but if I knew how to play her just right. If I wanted. 

But I didn't. 

She, of course, didn't know this yet and started bumbling. "Listen, I uh, I want you to know that, um, well, you know. This won't affect our work or anything." 

I nodded, finished buttoning my vest, then stepped up to her and hooked my finger onto the top of the sequined shirt, pulling it away from her chest and peering in. She wasn't wearing a bra. 

"Finn!" she shrieked and slapped my hand away, grabbing her shirt and blushing furiously. Shy right after what we had both done to each other. _That_ was Elle. 

I took her by the arms and pulled her to me. "I think I've earned the right." 

She smiled, then laughed and pulled her shirt open. I looked in, eyes greedy. "Hmmm... Third nipples are _soo_ sexy." 

She hit my arm with one hand playfully. "I do _not_ have a third nipple." 

I frowned and moved my head down to study her closer, making her squirm. "Well then what's that?" I asked nodding my head at two perfectly normal and beautiful breasts. 

"Where?" As she looked down to her own shirt, I brought my head back up and met her surprised lips with my hungry ones, kissing her hard, forcing my tongue in. After a surprised squeak she kissed back, crooning into my mouth with a low hum. She wrapped her arms around my waist, pulling me to her, and I kissed her harder than I had ever kissed anyone in my life, rocking her back on her heals. I tried to devour her, to take it all at once, and I broke the kiss, utterly confused at myself. But I didn't want this to be the end of... Well, _this_. I'd have to consider my emotions later. 

"I don't want to sound forward," I said with a smile and lifted my hand to her face. "But would you consider-" 

"I'd love to," she said, a huge grin flashing across her face. "Whose is closest?" 

Before I could even smile at the sudden change from giddy and shy to sexually comfortable, I heard a very familiar voice coming from the hall complaining about the dark. Then the door opened and our captain walked in to find Elle's arms around me and my hand on her face. 

The three of us stared for a moment as the ADA moved beside Cragen. 

_And then there were four._

... 

"Uh-" I started, then just sort of stopped. 

... 

"Compromising position, Detective," started Alex looking directly at me, then to Elle. "Miss Seymour." 

"Captain. Counselor," Elle nodded to each of them coolly, suddenly gaining confidence and, well, quite frankly balls that I didn't have. She reached out her hand. "We're taking the coats." 

I actually saw Cragen try to stifle a laugh as he and Cabot took their coats off and handed them over. 

"Have a good time at the party," she called out seriously and Alex shot a smile at her. An honest to God smile from the assistant DA that had nothing to do with nailing criminals or any other facet of her work was about as common as ice caps on the sun. 

As the two left, I opened my mouth to express my concern, but Elle's free hand pushed itself sideways over my lips. "Not tonight. They saw what they saw, and that's that. But it's not going to affect the rest of our night is it?" 

I looked at her for a moment, considering, then licked her hand slowly. 

She laughed. "Good. Now let's go." 

We left the closet a moment later with our own coats on, and headed through the hall. Elle stopped briefly to say goodbye to her old partner from Homicide then grabbed my hand and led me to the front door. On our way we passed our boss and the ADA talking heatedly to Jack McCoy and Abbie Carmichael, who were at each others throats, yet again. Cragen seemed beat and a little annoyed, but stood next to Cabot as if offering his support. 

As Elle and I walked out into the brisk starlit night heading for my car, she suddenly stopped and grabbed my arm, looking up at me. From the grip I thought she might be having a seisure. 

"Shit! I forgot my panties in the closet." 

I laughed out loud, and she slapped my arm in what I was beginning to note as a habit. "It's not funny, Finn." 

"How could you _not notice_ that you weren't wearing them." 

She looked down at the gravel beneath her feet and kicked at the stones, once again taking me aback with her innocent, childlike manner. "Well, I wasn't exactly _thinking_ of my underwear, now was I?" 

I waited. I could tell by the posture and the tone that there was something else. She looked up to see the expectation on my face, and sighed, throwing her arms up in the air. 

"I rarely ever wear any, alright?!" 

I felt a jerk in my stomach as I thought about the implications of that statement. Childlike innocence my _ass_. 

"It's just with these slacks you can tell when a girl's not wearing any, and I'm not a slut, so..." She trailed off, concentration suddenly creasing her face. I figured that she was most likely remembering just what the closet escapade entailed. When a flush began to creep onto those soft cheeks, I knew I had guessed correctly. "Can we please just go back and get them?" 

"Why? Do they have your name on them?" 

She frowned. "Well, no." 

"Then it doesn't matter unless Cragen or Cabot finds them." She glanced back at the loft, and the pure, horrified terror that I saw slam onto her face made me chuckle. She glared at me then started to go back. "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" I grabbed her then scooped her up in my arms, surprised at how very light she was. She always had such a presence, and I guess that affected the way I envisioned her. Even squirming in my arms, I held her easily. She still tried to get down, and I tightened my grip further. "Oh, no you don't. Uh, uh. Not after you tell me you rarely wear underwear. You now what that'll _do_ to me? I mean _every time_ I see you in the squadroom." 

She laughed and laid back dramatically, letting her head and curls drape beyond my arm and her arm flop down. "Fine. I'm docile. Happy? So, can I go get my underwear now? Pretty please? With sugar on top?" 

_Good suggestion._ "No. We're going now, Seymour." 

She looked up at me grinning with her eyes lowered suductively. "Yes, sir, Detective." 

I placed her down next to the passenger door, unlocked and opened the door for her. Instead of getting in, she pulled me toward her, grinding her hips to mine, and used her tongue on my jawbone. "Damn," I muttered and shoved her up against the backseat door. I started to bend down to her lips when I heard voices taunting us. 

I looked up to see three kids in costumes across the street pointing. Elle turned her head and laughed as they ran by yelling. "Happy Halloween!" she called after them. 

I opened her unbuttoned coat and pushed my face into her shirt, searching for her breasts. "What about me?" I growled. 

She laughed and pushed me away. "I'll show you a happy Halloween just as soon as we get to your place." She got in and closed the door. 

I drummed my fingers on the hood before moving around the car. _My place it is, then._   
  


**On to the next couple!**   
  
  
  



	5. Just a Little Time

Nymph Du Pave: Happy Halloween   
TITLE: Happy Halloween   
AUTHOR: Nymph Du Pave   
DISCLAIMER: L&O: SVU belongs to Dick Wolf, NBC and whoever else. I have nothing but a sick desire to play with the characters created by them. I earn no wages, just want to have fun.   
AUTHOR'S EMAIL: nymph_du_pave@hotmail.com   
AUTHOR'S NOTE: The damn SVU writers can't seem to keep their stupid friggin' stories and bios straight, even passed the apparently elusive information on John Munch. Does Cragen have a son or not damn it??? Well, this story is operating on the more recent of the episodes in which he says that he does not.   
******I thought I knew where I was headed with this, but it changed a page or so in, so I had to go back and modify. The character [DAMN YOU, CRAGEN!!] took over, and we all know how utterly helpless the writer is when the character simply _does not let up_. It's not what I was expecting to write, or what I wanted to write, really, but Cragen wasn't having it. So here it is. _**HIS**_ version. I hope you enjoy. Maybe I'll do a follow up. 

* * *

**Happy Halloween**

CHAPTER FOUR: Just A Little Time 

This was destined to be an interesting night at least. 

We had just interrupted one of my detectives and my shrink holding each other in the coat closet of cop-friendly party... The last thing I ever would have expected any night to bring, and I was just seven minutes in to this one. I was glad that Alex and I had not gotten there a few minutes later. Who knows what we might have witnessed. 

I shut the door behind me, leaving the two members of my cadre to whatever they had been previously engaged in and let out the laugh I had kept inside, easing up as Alex joined me. "That was unexpected," she whispered, confidentially close. I felt my gut tighten at her close proximity. 

"I think it's safe to say the shock value of tonight can be exploited no more." 

She nodded and headed down the hall. "And it's Halloween." 

Finn, Elle and their little indiscretion got me thinking, though. Unfortunately my train of thought was along the same vein that I had been desperately trying to avoid ever since I has foolishly asked Alex to come with me to the party. 

What my detectives do on their personal time is exactly that: personal. What _I_ do on my personal time, as the captain of Special Victims, is less so. It's always left to more scrutiny as if I have to present an exemplary form to mimic in every one of life's little situations. Every little plight and I have to be able to withstand the light shining through my various cracks hoping that they won't split deeper thanks to the harsh inquisitions. 

That is exactly why I have yet to broach the subject of a romantic affair with Alexandra Cabot. That and, of course, fear. The age difference is nothing to scoff at either. It's a bit, um, jarring to say the least. Fifteen years would have been too much in my previous assessments. Before I met the ambitious counselor. So double that and call me uncomfortable. 

As we entered the large living-room-slash-kitchen that had been remodeled into an entertaining area, Alex's eyes immediately locked onto something across the room. "There's Jack and Abby." 

I turned to look at my companion, her strong beauty always reassuring in an oddly intimate way. I tried to relax. "This is a party, Alex. Don't tell me that you want to go talk shop." 

She turned to look at me. "Not necessarily shop. Abby wanted to speak to me about something earlier." 

"Work." 

She looked to the side and nodded, a habit I had become familiar with. "Well, yes, I suppose that's what she wanted, but I'm not sure." 

I placed my hand on her elbow, and started to usher her through the crowd towards her colleagues. "What else does Abby Carmichael ever want to talk about." I rubbed my temple, then added bitterly, "Or you for that matter." 

She merely gave me a patient, kind look that I didn't understand. While I was trying to decipher just what I had seen in those lavender blue eyes, we approached the pair of bickering lawyers, ADA and EADA, seeming, as always, ready to tear each other limb from limb. 

_They argue even more than we do,_ I thought, my mind traveling with light-speed through the memories of several of my more infamous argumentative moments with Cabot. 

They acknowledged us quickly with the appropriate holiday greetings, then started right in with Alex about the latest demands of the DA. I rubbed my forehead again, knowing that too much of this and I was a goner. I didn't wait more than half an hour with Alex in her office while she finished important details, then come to a _party_ to continue thinking about the things I went out to forget about. 

I lowered my hand to knead my tense neck, and turned in time to see Ellandra Seymour and Odafin Tutuola leaving hand in hand. The captain in me growled about how this was going to affect relations and status in the work field, specifically with the abnormally uptight John Munch; the human in me was happy for the both of them. Finn was lonely and Elle was having a hard time with her mother's health issues. They deserved happiness. 

So did I, right? 

I moved in to whisper in Alex's ear. "I'm gonna be outside, okay?" She gave me a disappointed but understanding look that almost made me want to stay. Then Jack interrupted Abby with the exact opposite of what she was arguing. 

I nodded a polite farewell to the two and started making my way towards the patio. I saw two couples dancing close to the sliding glass door, and was heavy in thought about getting Cabot out there with me when I bumped into Monique Jeffries. Both of us immediately tensed and looked elsewhere. 

_Just my freakin' night._

I took a chance and looked up, breathing deeply. "Detective Jeffries." 

She nodded curtly. "Captain." Her voice was brisk and her eyes held that familiar glint of unyielding defiance that I had, in my time working with her, come to admire and curse. At least when it was turned on me with a vengeance. 

Like now. 

"Happy Halloween," I said softly, hating the fact that she still resented what she perceived as a lack of support from me in the past. The truth is that I fought like hell to keep her in my unit, did everything I could think of. But when push came to shove, she had simply given the psych counsel too much information and the commissioner's team saw her as a liability, shipping her back to Vice. Now she blamed me for her persecution because she never saw me in active support mode. 

You don't only support your detectives in the workplace; you have to support them at hearings and during committee meetings. You have to support them in private as well as in public and I just wish she understood that. 

After a moment, she nodded and gave a tight-lipped smile, but a smile nonetheless. "You, too." 

We stood there for a moment awkwardly looking at anything but each other, then she cleared her throat. "Look, you haven't seen Olivia around here have you?" 

I shook my head. "Sorry. If I do?" 

She shrugged. "Just tell her I'm looking." 

"Okay." She walked away, a little awkward at first, as if maybe she was waiting for me to say something. Or maybe she wanted to say something herself, but didn't know if it was wise. I watched her walk away mingling with the crowd and sighed, feeling that maybe I should have just gone home. I never was much the partygoer, and tonight was not doing much to convince me to suddenly become the contrary. Tired, headache, sore, two of my detectives are going to no doubt end up in a bitter break up of sorts, I'm not going to be able to spend time with Alex, _and_ I run into the single detective that makes me feel guilty in record time. 

I made my way to the door and opened it, stepping out onto the patio. The loft had been far too warm, but then again I preferred chill to heat. The cool night air was sharp and crisp, while the subtle mixture of fragrances roused my sense of smell as well as relaxed the rest of me. The candles scattered about issued the strongest single distinct scent from where I stood, that of burning vanilla. There were also various foods and perfumes blending together to form a separate, subtle aroma that was pleasant, even cozy. 

I walked away from the couples dancing to a song I didn't know, and stood against the railing, just listening to the sounds of enjoyment, something a captain of the New York City police force hears very little of. It reminded me of summer more than October, despite the glaringly festive décor. 

I closed my eyes and let the sounds wash over me, the backdrop, a lighthearted Halloween soundtrack, could barely be heard from the patio. It was playing from within the rather large homemade spook house, no doubt populated by faux phantoms and undead dummies. Over the sounds of laugher and quiet chatter that permeated my hearing came the occasional gleeful scream from a child inside the haunted house. And the music. 

The song from the speakers finished and was replaced with one I knew well: Nat King Cole's _There Will Never Be Another You_. If it weren't for the crowd, the heat, and Alex's business company I would have headed back in. But it was too nice out here despite that particular number. 

The lyrics of the song hit me hard, still fresh with emotions since I rarely heard it. It spoke of two lovers dancing for the last time then parting. During their dance, the young man was explaining what the future would hold. 

Marge's face formed beneath my closed eyelids, and I sighed. I could still remember her eyes, so bright and penetrating. Her smile, so willing and free. All I had to do was walk into the room to be greeted with that warmth. Her body. While she'd be cooking I'd walk up behind her and wrap my around waist, pulling her tightly to me. The way her silky hair felt slipping through my fingers at night while she lay sleeping so peacefully in my bed. 

Her death wasn't that long ago, but for a few years after it felts like this inexorable paradox. In my mind it was like she died just yesterday, but my fingers are screaming that they haven't touched her in decades. My head knew no time, but my body wasn't being fooled. Even though neither were correct in their estimates of the interval between her death and my present, it felt as if they both hit it on the head. 

I used to have this dream at nights. I'd dream about being with her in the plane as it went down, holding her tightly against me and telling her that we'd be together when we finally landed, whether we made it out alive or not. I'd tell her no matter what, we won't lose each other because that's how I always- no, we always thought it would happen. True love never ended any way but such. We'd go within hours, days or, at the most, weeks of each other, ready and willing. 

But life doesn't follow what you sense is written in the stars. It seems to instead follow a more chaotic and cruel blueprint, laid out like a labyrinth of individual pain. 

In the dream I'm suddenly standing amidst the wreckage desperately trying to pull my wife out from under something large and heavy, looking around to other passengers, and quickly finding that we're the only survivors. 

Then I pull my wife out and she just lies there, limp and unmoving. Lifeless. 

_This is impossible_, I shout. _ I can't still be here. Not without her. I won't have it._ When I see her face the expression of peace sends shards of glass through every nerve ending residing in my flesh. She can't be happy without me, can she? I know I can't be without her. 

_It wasn't supposed to be this way_. My screams aren't silent, but instead as loud as possible and I hear nothing else but them. But I can see the sky, bright and clear above me, stars shining down from the elevated sanctuary above. 

I open my eyes and look to the sky, partially covered by the tip of the awning. It looks the same, only now the passage of time has dulled that ominous burn in my brain to a slight feeling of unease, the subconscious reaction implanted by the continuous nightmares slowly dying out. 

Right after the accident, I was happy that her body was never recovered. I couldn't bare to chance seeing that expression in real life. As if the torture my dreams elicited wasn't horrible enough. 

The gleeful shriek of a couple teenage girls filled the air followed by uproarious laughter, and I wondered just what exactly was in the house. The sliding glass door opened behind me and I turned to see a couple kids wander out onto the patio. As I shifted my view into the loft, I caught just a sliver in the crowd of Alex standing with the other two attorneys still discussing something, but of a more jovial nature. I decided to stay: the air was sweet and refreshing and the song had changed into some happier romantic tune. My mind drifted back to its previous thoughts, more cautious of just how deep I was getting. 

I haven't had that nightmare in a while, a long while, and now I wish I knew she was at peace without me. Acceptance is a wonderful thing once you know just how to obtain and maneuver within it. Nowadays it occasionally seems like I'd never been with her at all, like it was this perfect dream that I had merely hallucinated being real, only to be wrenched violently away thanks to the "Get Real" alarm going off in my head. 

I learned to think anything that pure, that rich in sense can't last, can't sustain itself, even with help from others. Something happens, then it goes away. Anything that makes me feel even remotely complete will either in time be revealed for what it truly is, or worse, snatched away, never to be returned. 

Hence the fear burning in my mind, blazing a trail around the name "Alexandra Cabot". I was attracted to her wit, intelligence, uncanny perceptions, and her amazing ability to just be and overtake. More ambitious than most in any field, she seems to radiate power and confidence, and not a little justified self-assuredness. 

But what puts the apprehension inside my head and keeps it there, are my emotional feelings that are far removed from professional awe. I try to pull them back in and stomp them down completely but they extend past my grasp, and are too colossal to even fully observe. 

I see her anywhere and, even though I know why she's there at that moment, I can't help but feel the burdens of the day lighten just a little bit. Things change in minor ways. It's like I've been wearing Munch's shades, and she walks in and takes them off. It's brighter and I'm more calm, more at peace. 

Occasionally we'll eat lunch, and sometimes it'll be just the two of us instead of some strange mix of the unit. We'll sit and eat, and enjoy the time spent away from work, but I want to be able to ask her to lunch on any basis. Dinner, too. But not a date, just a dinner between to people who happen to be romantically inclined towards each other. I don't think I could put up with dating. Not again. I merely want to skip all the tiresome routines and just have her near, have her with me. I just want her to know me. I want the routine of being married. 

_We already fight like pros, why not get the emotional closeness as well?_

I do feel that she has something inside for me. Something there that isn't pity for a lonely widow pushing a raw age and a few years soberness. I feel like she could possibly have romantic feelings that involve me, like she could love me, like I know I could love her. 

And all of this makes me feel tremendously guilt stricken. 

My wife would have never wanted me to be alone, would have never wanted this loneliness to take over, and if I had been the one in the plane, seeing how my wife started to slowly drown in booze and misery, I would want her to find someone to share the time with, someone to care about and maybe even love. 

But not as much as she loved me. 

Could I love Alex that much? The passions inside said absolutely, but the guilt said not to get involved, because either way it's a lose-lose situation. If I could love her that much, then I'd be betraying Marge. If I couldn't then I'd be selfishly taking her time, when there were plenty of men out there that would be willing, more than willing, to give their whole to her. I didn't have a whole to give, but I did so desperately want to. 

"Hey, there, Captain." 

I started a little and turned to see Alex standing beside me. "Please, it's Donald, Alex." 

She smiled and did this half-nod, half-shake with her head. I always considered it to be a little charming, but right now, in my emotional state, it was too endearing to bare. 

"You look a little gloomy." 

I nodded, but said nothing. 

"Happy Halloween?" she tried. 

I smiled. "Happy Halloween." 

She shook her head. "Pathetic." 

"I know." 

Her head cocked to one side, then she looked at me with a smile. "I love this song." I listened for a moment. A woman's voice I didn't recognize was doing a cover of Joni Mitchell's _A Case of You_. 

"Care to dance?" 

I was a little taken aback as that intimate beauty stuck a chord once again, but I nodded. "Sure." Probably not the wisest choice, but I was in need of a little comfort via physical contact. 

We fell into posture almost naturally, the only problem being that in heals she was my height. We were at a close enough distance that I could feel her body rubbing up against mine, but not obscenely. 

Marge was smaller. Not necessarily good or bad. Just an observation. 

I breathed in deeply, letting it go slowly, so as not to attract the attention from my dancing partner. 

There would never be another wife like mine, never be another woman on the face of the earth who could make me feel the way that she did. But there was a chance, a _large_ chance, that one could match the level of intensity when it came to the emotions that she had once aroused. I only had to accept that and move on. But that was going to take some time. Time that I desperately hoped that I had.   
  


**On to the next couple!**   
  
  
  



End file.
